


consecration

by thefudge



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dark Magic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Euron Greyjoy is His Own Warning, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Fucked Up, Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25497208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: Set during the kingsmoot. Euron embarks on a dark ritual with his niece. (written for Nonconathon 2020)
Relationships: Asha Greyjoy/Euron Greyjoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	consecration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphoticdepths](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphoticdepths/gifts).



> i think this may be my first legit non-con fic, although i would say it's still...kind of mild compared to some of the stuff i've read on here? anyway, i wanted to try my hand at the Nonconathon, because i am veritable trash (mostly, i wanted to see if i could pull it off. results may vary). make sure to read the tags. and maybe don't read this at all *hides*

Old Wyk is horrid and beautiful. She stares at the black mountain’s cragged jaw, scoured day and night by salt, and she thinks she sees a pair of eyes there, sad and weeping eyes, watching the sea without hope. There’s nothing to see in the sea. She has no interest in the gods beneath. It is the dusk’s horizon that holds the key. And that is what Euron promised the Ironborn. The endless stretch of water and what lies beyond it will be theirs. They will conquer the world. Asha would settle for home. _Cock-eyed fool_ , she thinks. But he is a cock-eyed fool with a clever mouth and a dangerous fleet.

She throws a rock into the water.

He has already won. Tomorrow, he will be chosen king right here on Nagga’s Hill. She ought to sail for Harlaw in the morning. It would be unwise to wait around for her uncle to decide what to do with her. And yet, she wants to see it with her own eyes, her legacy and hopes being dashed against the rocks. If Theon were here…

“Evening, Niece. Does the cold bite?”

Asha turns, hand on the hilt of her dagger, heart in her throat.

She did not hear him walk up behind her. No one ever does.

He is quiet, softer than a rolling pebble. Even his words resound, yet quickly disperse in shadow, as if returning to a primordial place. He stands there, one all-seeing eye staring at her from the dark. His grin cuts a white slab in his face.

Asha does not remove her hand from the dagger.

“Not as hard as you do, Nuncle,” she replies evenly, as if she had expected him. It does not pay to show him weakness, or even surprise.

His grin grows sharper. “You don’t know how right you are.”

Asha kicks a few pebbles with her boots. They roll down towards the beach. “Come to kill me in the dark, as you did Father?” 

If he is surprised by her blunt accusation, he does not show it. His voice is humorous, almost delighted. “Oh, it wasn’t so dark. Your father could look upon me quite easily.”

Asha’s fingers tremble on the blade. Her heart fills with hatred and purpose. Kinslaying is a curse, they say, but the Crow’s Eye is the cursed one. If she kills him, she will not be chosen Queen but she will save countless Ironborn lives that would be wasted on his bloody conquests.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever thought of _your_ dying day,” she rasps, shifting on the stony mound, pulling one knee back, ready to attack.

Euron strokes his dark beard. He probes his own throat, drags a line across it, like the zigzag of a scar. “How do you know I’m not dead already?”

His voice seems to whisper directly in her ear. Asha feels a cold lick down the spine which has nothing to do with the bitter, salty winds.

“What is dead may never die,” she chants in sotto voce.

He nods. “Words none of you live by. Words you do not deserve. But I will honor you with the knowledge, Niece. I will make you respect them again.” 

“You can’t kill me the night before the kingsmoot. Even you’re not that mad,” she drawls, even though there’s a shard of fear lodged deep in her heart. Fear that he _may_ be that mad. Fear that she might lose a battle she never intended to fight alone. She should have sailed for Harlaw when she’d had the chance.

“Who said anything about killing? You keep talking of kinslaying, but there are better ways to die.”

And before Asha can pull out the dagger, her eyes are blinded by salt.

She cries out, groping for the light.

There’s only dark now, and the jaw of the mountain.

The sea is in her eyes.

She stares into its depths.

What did he do?

 _How_ did he do it?

She never gave credence to his stories of Asshai. What skills did he bring back from the Shadow Lands?

Or perhaps these are native tricks. Perhaps he really has been chosen by the Drowned God.

But she likes to think the Drowned God wouldn’t be such a stupid fucker.

And then the sea empties out of her in one hot, gurgling wave.

She coughs out brackish water on the slippery stones.

Fingers card through her hair. She has a faint memory of Mother, dead for so long, yet alive in his fingers. His hand wraps around the braids and tugs until her scalp hurts. His breath warms the crook of her neck and his beard scratches her cheek. He smells of nothing at all.

Euron speaks into her ear.

“Let the gods above and below see us on Nagga’s Hill, consecrating the land anew.” The words sound like distant mockery, even as they sink into her marrow. Euron yanks her head aside and slides his tongue down the length of her neck, tasting salt. He laps at her wet skin, suckling and biting, leaving shallow bruises, and then he sticks his tongue in her ear and the world tilts. Asha panics. It is not violence she fears, but invasion. He can slip inside her so easily. Euron presses one knee into the small of her back and rips the tunic from her shoulders. Asha howls and struggles against his hold. She tries to jab an elbow into his chest, but he pins her to the ground once more and latches his mouth to the back of her neck like a festering leech. The queerness of the attack leaves her almost paralyzed. She feels the blood run red and free into his mouth. She feels his teeth grazing against an essential part of her, a nerve that connects her feverish mind to her unresponsive body. The terror she feels is unnamable, almost disconnected from the physical, even as his hands grope and squeeze and tear off her small clothes.

He weighs her breasts in his hands, strokes and squeezes the globs as if to milk them. “Hmm. I do prefer to fondle your grown tits. You had little to offer as a child. Do you remember when you said you wanted Nuncle Euron to marry you?” he whispers dreamily into her hair.

She can still feel his hands on her breasts, even as his fingers now descend over her taut belly and jab cruelly between her legs, finding her sex, raking over it, spreading her, as if checking for something inside, something of his. 

Asha knows she never said such things as a child. She knows there is no memory of her wishing for his love, but when Euron sinks into her without preamble, the memory is all that floods her.

She is a little girl, stepping over the plank. Nuncle Euron picks her up and takes her aboard the _Silence_. He makes her sit in his arms as he shows her his ship and the quiet, soulless men that haunt it. She knows that none of it is real, that none of it really happened, but the future does not seem real either. Her own existence is unmoored from the story of her life. Euron takes the little girl who seems to be her into his cabin below deck and opens a silver trunk full of strange, glimmering artifacts, animal limbs and heart-shaped stones. He drops her little body inside the trunk. He looks down at her with a handsome, roguish smile. He was always handsome. He says, _you will have to scream very loud for him to hear you. Can you do that for me?_

Asha screams. She kicks the side of the trunk. She is ageless and she is afraid.

From the depthless bottom comes a soft rattling hiss, a silk-woven caress.

There are no monsters in this world. Only gods.

The feelers first fondle her ankles, wrapping around them like manacles. They are slow, yet come all at once. The tentacles readily suckle at her nipples and wrap around her coltish body, cutting off circulation, making her pulse faint, covering her in sweet-smelling spittle. The little girl seems to grow into a woman under their lavish touch. Her hips and breasts chafe under the suckers and the friction makes her want to shrink into herself as they slip further inside. She can feel them slithering between her legs and into her mouth. Her jaw widens, unhinges, as the oily limb plunders her throat and ravages her vocal cords. Two more tentacles slide into her cunt and one into her anus, making new inroads inside her, taking her by siege, and she screams a muted scream, though the pain is like electricity, like being held to the mast of a sinking ship and being struck by lightning and simmering with the aftermath, waiting for the next storm. She arches her back, pushing away from their tangled embrace, yet that only makes them wrap tighter and pump faster. She can feel them inside her womb, pulsing, plunging, sucking the life out of her. 

Euron fucks her roughly from behind, pushing her face into the rocks, and the Drowned God fucks her everywhere, in tandem.

She feels the emptiness of it, being depleted and evacuated, being inhabited by something that does not need to live. They fuck her raw, making her drag bloody nails against stone. She moans against her will, moans for life and moans in rage as her uncle lifts her hips higher and slams them against his pelvis rhythmically, so that she feels her teeth rattle in her skull, so that his cock seems to bruise her esophagus, even though there’s no more room there since the Drowned God has made a misery of her mouth. _But there’s always room_ , Euron murmurs, chanting his pretty niece’s name as he fucks her faster, _there’s always room inside you for more of us_. Asha cries out, begging and swallowing more of the Drowned God’s limbs as she hears Euron praise her cunt, telling her how fucking good it feels to make it hurt and how glorious _she_ is, mounted dead on his cock, and doesn’t she want to sit on it forever, impaled and bloody and spent? She closes her eyes and sees men without tongues hanging from sails, their viscera on display. The _Silence_ glides on dark waters and she glides with them. She’s sitting on the captain’s cock as he pours over maps and darkens his lips with a thick blue liquid, and he fucks her slowly, leisurely, asking her if she wants the corpses to have a go at her later. She swallows oceans of hatred. She will not go quietly into the water. The frenzy keeps her alive and with the frenzy comes the horrible, ghastly pleasure of surviving the ordeal, of letting herself actually feel it. The Drowned God’s mouth suckles at her clit and Euron slaps her cunt viciously, making her clench around them, all of them. Asha screams and screams as her body is laid to waste and the orgasm rips the last shred of reason from her mind. She can hear his voice inside her head, reminding her of who is fucking her. _Do I make you feel good, little niece?_

 _Yes_ , she thinks emptily. _Yes…yes…yes…fuck…yes._

The tentacles are soaked in her juices and rut inside her sloppily, squelching and burrowing into her wetness and she comes again, disgusted and euphoric. She does not know if these are her thoughts anymore, but the sensations are real and like nothing she has ever felt before. An intense deprivation, wanting to be filled and filled and filled and filled…and the God acquiesces.

The tentacles release their poison and spill inside her, choking her, making her cunt clench and her lips stain blue and her womb bulge with their generosity. Euron’s seed is warm inside her and drops of it spill on the sacred ground of Nagga’s Hill. 

Asha collapses on the rocks with a weak cry.

“Now that I’ve fucked the islands into submission,” he says, spreading the cum on the ground with his thumb and licking it, “I suppose a good rest is in order.”

His broken niece lies at his feet, a mess of frothing and incoherent mutterings, juices trickling down her legs and lips. He relishes the sight of her. Despite all that he has put her through, she has managed it wonderfully. She has fared much better than her uncles. Her strength is no trivial matter. It will take a very long and very sweet time to fully unravel her mind and body. He strokes her glistening, bruised back.

Family is better than strangers, he thinks with a laugh. He ought to have come for her sooner.

Asha falls into his chest as he carries her away from the beach, away from Nagga’s Hill and the kingsmoot and her destiny.

Euron kisses her feverish temples. She can hardly open her eyes anymore to see the new world that awaits her, but it does not matter. The new world will find her in the dark.

And take her.


End file.
